


The Purest Expression of Grief

by wasduwillst



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Cheating, M/M, please don't read it if that bothers you, this is a fic straight up about cheating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 01:49:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9526526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasduwillst/pseuds/wasduwillst
Summary: How do you describe being taken from behind by your best friend's husband while your best friend sleeps a room over?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yesterday I vomited on twitter about a Prompto Homewrecks Ignoct AU. Here's a snippet of a scenario that I think probably happened maybe.
> 
> I hate everything.

_This can't last._

He knows that as an absolute. He knows that as he chokes down a groan, splays his palms flat on the wall to keep himself from toppling. Ignis’ voice is guttural in his ear, telling him he's good. So good for keeping quiet. Such a good boy. Such a good fuck.

The floor plan of the Caelum-Scientia apartment lends itself to open spaces. Prompto remembers the way Ignis lit up at the window cut into the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. For keeping an eye on Noct, he’d said. He can still hear the fondness in his voice. It resonates through him now, cold as death’s knell.

Ignis’ wedding band bites where it touches his hip. The fingers grip tight, clenching in time with sloppy thrusts intended to ride them both into quick completion. His cock aches. He wishes he could free a hand to grasp it, but as it stands all he can do is buck forward, weak and compliant. Precum streaks across his stomach and down his shaft, and under his breath he mumbles, “Close. Ignis, m’close…”

His eyes are locked on Noct’s face. Noctis is asleep on the couch, angled just so that he has a perfect view of him through that godforsaken hole in the wall. A stone’s throw away. He wonders if Ignis planned this, and then he wonders how he’s so far gone that the thought that should disgust him turns him on instead.

He can't look away.

He can't look away.

He can't get away.

_He’s using you, Prompto._

The thing about his conscience is that it can't shame him for something he already knows. His stomach churns with it all the same, somewhere beneath the want that knots there, that lets him know he won't last much longer. He hangs his head and sobs. The sickness of it burns. 

Noct could wake at any moment. He's never needed Ignis more than now.

Ignis’ fingers come. Too cold. Too gentle. They press at his lips, and Prompto parts them easily. He sucks, nips at the soft pad of his index finger, tangles them with his tongue. He might choke, but at least he can't scream.

_I want to scream._

His climax overtakes him while he stares at Noct with half lidded eyes. Thick ropes of cum splatter the kitchen wall, a stain he knows he'll always see there no matter how many times Ignis scrubs it out. He feels Ignis’ release, warm and slick at his entrance. The countdown starts. They don't have long to bask in the afterglow, even if Ignis is draped across his back, breath hitched delightfully at the nape of his neck. He whines longingly when Ignis slides his fingers from his mouth. He’s ordered to go clean up.

He’ll wake Noct while he’s indisposed.

_Have you ever been discontent?_

The Prompto in the mirror looks wrecked. Lips swollen. Hair in disarray and damp at the fringe from where he'd splashed his face with icy water and told himself to breathe. The bags under his eyes seem a constant these days. If they’re caught-- when they are, his heart will stop beating. He knows that.

He’s fallen for his best friend’s husband. He can't deny it. He can't take it back. It's only a matter of time before it comes to an explosive, furious head, and he’ll be right in the eye of the storm.

_Have you ever been discontent?_

He weeps.

_"Yes.”_


End file.
